Here is the much anticipated first meeting. It's meant to be mysterious and to not reveal too much about our favorite character. I promise much more E/C time in the future, though this story isn't going to have a lot of fluff. Maybe some dark fluff. Erik's modern characterization was a bit tough to work out, but I was trying to make him a little more toward the Kay/Leroux side.
Finally, thanks to everyone for all of the wonderful reviews! I wasn't anticipating that many, and they really got me excited about this story. I hope it turns out to be a fun ride!
Read and Review!
Christine remained completely frozen in her seat, too much in shock to do anything but stare cross-eyed at the hand that remained above her quivering mouth. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing, and she feared she would faint as her surroundings began to fade into darkness. Desperately, she attempted to stay conscious so that she would not be at the mercy of whomever - or whatever-was standing silently beside her.
The cassette continued to play on in the background, and she was vaguely aware of her father's jovial voice talking to her. "Shall we go for one more, Christine?"
"Yeah. I have time for a last song," her fifteen-year-old voice replied with slight annoyance at having been kept there so long. Within a couple of seconds, Red River Valley immediately began to play on the guitar. The music seemed to become more distant with each passing second, as if she were slowly floating away from it.
It was at that moment, though, that she heard the strange voice from directly above her. Though barely above a whisper, it was sharp and distinct, easily breaking through the music on the cassette. For a moment, Christine thought that she had imagined it in a short lapse of consciousness. Then it repeated itself, louder this time...almost ethereal in its ability to glide through the air and suppress every other noise in its vicinity. "Is that your voice?" it asked, devoid of tone or emotion.
"Mmhmm," was her mumbled acknowledgment as she attempted to keep her eyes open. To her relief, Christine noticed that the hand then withdrew itself from her mouth. It hovered openly above her face for a second before finally closing into a fist and disappearing altogether. Craning her neck to try and make out its owner, Christine could still see nothing but a dark silhouette standing just beyond the glow of her headlights.
Rubbing a hand over her exhausted face, she started to lie back down and close her eyes again, wondering if a short rest would take the ache in her skull away. The voice spoke again, though, and her eyelids flew open. "Stay awake," it commanded in a raspy whisper. "You have only a concussion."
"I can't," she replied weakly, too disoriented to tell if she was imagining this.
"You will if you want to survive the night. It would be a pity for such a voice to come to a needless end."
Christine groaned slightly and attempted to raise her head again, fully awake in her desire to see the face of the person who spoke to her. Before she was even halfway up, though, the icy hand swiftly returned and pressed itself to her forehead, forcing her to lie back down into the seat. She murmured a quiet protest as her head hit the headrest but was in no condition to resist.
"Remain lying down, Christine," it stated, emphasizing her name in a clear threat. "Seeing me will certainly do you no good."
"Why?" she asked, beginning to question her safety. "Who are you?"
She could have sworn she heard a very soft chuckle from above. "Merely a passerby," came the reply. "No one of any concern to you."
Between the song on the cassette, the hypnotizing voice, and her throbbing head, Christine attempted to find some sense of clarity before she blacked out again. "Please...I need to get out," she protested. "I need help. My car is stuck down here, and I need to call someone." As if on cue, the last chords of the song faded out, and the cassette clicked off. Aside from the steady hum of the engine, Christine found herself in complete silence. "Sir?" she asked, thinking with simultaneous panic and relief that her strange companion had abandoned her.
With a sigh of exhaustion, she started to reach down and unbuckle the seat belt. Christine threw herself back into the seat, though, as the hand returned, watching it in fear as it brushed a wisp of blonde hair away from her face. She could almost sense a strange tension in the air, as if the figure were debating what action to take next, was struggling to make some decision concerning her fate.
Christine started to protest the confinement, but a blaring noise shattered the silence around her. She blinked in surprise but soon realized the noise to be the siren of an ambulance or fire truck out in the distance. Several more alarms soon followed, becoming louder by the second. A feeling of relief swept through her. She would be discovered! Unless...the figure beside her had other plans. Her eyes darted upward toward the dark form in apprehension.
"You are fortunate tonight," finally came a decisive whisper. "Your voice has saved you."
It was gone after that, and she blinked several times as the lights of the emergency vehicles flashed in yellows and reds around her. The voices of paramedics came closer, and she saw the shine of flashlights nearing her car. "Over here!" someone called out. "Someone is still inside of the vehicle."
A balding man in a white paramedic's uniform soon appeared by her ajar door and looked in with his flashlight. She blinked painfully in the bright glow. "Hello there, Miss," he said, not hiding the relief in his voice as he saw that they would not be needing a body bag that night. "How are you feeling? We'll get you out of here in a minute!" He leaned back up and called out. "We have a young woman down here. She appears to be fully conscious but go ahead and bring down the stretcher." He turned back to her. "Are you experiencing any pain or numbness?" he questioned.
"My head hurts a lot. I rammed it against the window when my car hit a bump."
"Are you feeling dizzy? Any vision problems?"
"Yeah, I'm a little dizzy," she replied wearily. Christine paused and looked around, feeling another wave of exhaustion come over her. "Where did he go?" she asked quietly.
"Where did who go?" the paramedic asked, reaching in and shutting off the engine. "Was someone riding with you?"
"No. The person that was standing here a second ago."
As the paramedic started to get up to assist with the stretcher, he gave her a sympathetic smile. "We'll get you out of here in a second. Can you give me your name?"
"Christine Daae" she replied distractedly, still looking around. "Where did he go, though?"
"There's no one here, Christine," he replied kindly. "You may have imagined it while you were shortly unconscious. Tell me if you see any other strange things, though, okay? Try to stay awake. I'm going to ask you a few questions about your medical history."
"Okay," she said softly, brushing the incident to the back of her mind as she entered the safe confines of the brightly lit ambulance. Perhaps she had imagined it, and yet...it had seemed so very, very real.
Nadir Khan paced several times across the patchy brown carpet of the cheap motel room, his eyes nervously darting toward the dirty window as if expecting someone. The clanking heater in the corner was at least ten years old and provided little warmth, or perhaps there were too many cracks and crevices letting in the frigid air for it to make a difference. Nadir shivered as he strode back across the room, jumping when someone suddenly revved up a motorcycle outside.
He had that feeling in the pit of his stomach, one that he had not had for at least a decade. The Iranian knew that he was being watched, and that his presence there was no longer a secret. Nadir had hoped that by using a fake name to rent a room in a thirty-dollar-a-night motel, he would be able to keep hidden and unnoticed. As he walked down the streets of the small city, though, he could see the shadows that discreetly trailed behind him. He was probably one of the few men alive who would even notice such things. To deny that they were there, though, would be foolish.
With a sigh, Nadir realized that pacing back and forth across the room was doing him no good. If his masked friend wanted to find him, he would. If he had wanted to do away with him, he would have done so already. All Nadir could do now was wait. The mattress gave a loud groan as he sat down upon the stained bedspread. Reaching for the remote control, Nadir turned on the television in an attempt to calm his nerves. After seeing with great disdain that the rooms didn't even have cable, he settled on a local station and leaned back to watch the rest of the news.
"A spokesperson for the White House says that the president is willing to attend the three-way talks, but the United States will not back down from its stance on North Korean nuclear activity." The female reporter paused and brushed a strand of brown hair out of her face as she turned back to the camera. "Victor?"
"Thank you for that report from Washington, Amy," replied the anchorman as the T.V. flashed back to the studio. "Be sure to keep us updated on how events there progress." He quickly looked down at his papers and glanced back up. "And now for our top local story. Police are searching for a missing Burlington man tonight, described as Caucasian and standing at about six feet tall and two hundred and twenty pounds." A head shot of the elderly man popped up onto the screen. "Sixty-year-old Joseph Buquet was last seen by his wife around six-thirty Monday evening, right before he went out on an evening jog. When he didn't come home that night, a search immediately began. So far, no evidence has been found to explain his disappearance."
The camera switched to a video recording of an older woman standing in front of a brick house. Her mouth was pursed tightly in distress, and dark circles framed her hazel eyes. "Joe always comes home by eight," she said, her voice cracking. "He's never late coming home, and he would have called me if he had trouble."
"Was he suffering from any sort of illness?" enquired a faceless reporter.
"No," replied Mrs. Buquet. "Joe was very healthy. He exercised every night and was rarely ever sick."
"Do you have any idea at all where he may possibly be?"
"No," she repeated, shaking her head as a tear ran down her cheek. "Something has happened to him. He wouldn't leave without a word."
The television turned back to the anchorman. "There has been some speculation that Mr. Buquet's strong ties to the FBI have made him a target for criminals, but the police have assured us that there is no proof to suggest this as of yet. Anyone with information is encouraged to call the number at the bottom of the screen. We'll keep you updated on any further developments concerning Mr. Buquet." A breaking pause. "Next, on channel nine news, a report on how to keep your children safe at..."
Nadir Khan flipped off the television screen and sat in a quiet daze. A feeling of guilt suddenly overwhelmed him. He had dragged that poor man into this business without even considering the consequences. Perhaps Mr. Buquet unknowingly had more valuable information than the Iranian had assumed. For a moment, Nadir wondered if there was any way to get into the former agent's files and see what they contained. If he were caught meddling, though, he would immediately be placed on the list of suspects.
Maybe he deserved to be, though. In more ways than one, he was responsible for this.
At least now Nadir knew for certain that he was close to his old friend. At the same time, finding him would continue to be nearly impossible...even in a city of that size.
With a sigh, Nadir reached for his phone and deleted Mr. Buquet's name from his short list of contacts. There was no doubt that the former FBI agent was long dead.
"So you think you had some sort of supernatural experience?"
Christine raised her head from the pillow and gave Meg an annoyed look. "Don't stare at me like I'm insane. It's not like I was completely conscious at the time. I'm just saying that the whole thing was really strange, like being in a dream."
"No! I don't think you're insane. It's interesting, I guess."
"My father's voice was singing in the background, and then that...that voice started speaking to me from above. I can't really remember everything now, but I do remember that someone was talking to me. I wasn't alone out there that night!" Christine clutched the pillow tightly to herself, momentarily staring at the floral bedspread with a distant look in her eye.
Meg shrugged. "Maybe you weren't alone. It's just that when I first talked to you during the night you stayed at the hospital, you made the whole thing sound kind of creepy. A cold hand? Someone forcing you to stay inside of the car? That's a little weird."
"I was hysterical that night, Meg! After everything that had happened, I barely knew what I was talking about. It kept me awake when I had the concussion, though! And did I tell you what the voice said to me right before it left?"
"What?"
"It said that my voice had saved me! It was like some kind of sign...that and the cassette. Ever since that night, I've felt so peaceful. Even with Mrs. Valerius still in the hospital, I feel like everything is going to be okay."
"How long will she be there?" asked Meg, seeming happy to change the subject. "Have they gotten any results back?"
Christine's face fell. "No one will tell me anything. I think something may be wrong, though."
"I'm sorry, Christine," Meg replied, giving her a one-armed hug. "Maybe everything will be fine, though. And you're welcome to stay at my house for as long as you want. There's plenty of room for you here, and my parents have always considered you a good influence on me! Maybe they'll stop trying to force me to move out."
"Thanks," Christine said, gratefully. "I'll try to go, though, once my head stops aching. I swear that I went through a bottle of Tylenol the other day. The dizziness is about gone at least. I can't stay too long, or the apartment will completely fall apart."
"Whatever you feel like! I'm guessing you can't drive yet?"
"No. Even if I were well enough, two of my tires are completely deflated and something came loose in the engine. It's going to take a while to get it repaired."
Meg gave her a sympathetic look. "I'll give you a ride when I can." She sighed. "You're really not having a good month, Christine. Talk about bad luck!"
"Tell me about it," she replied with a sigh, absentmindedly fingering the lace on one of the pillow shams. Christine was quiet for a moment. "Hey Meg?" she finally asked with hesitation.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think there really could have been something with me when I had the accident? Like a ghost or spirit of some kind? I mean, it disappeared so fast, and its voice didn't seem human."
"I really don't know," Meg replied. "My grandma says that she's seen angels. And I have a friend at Yale who swears that a ghost lives in her uncle's house. So maybe there are things out there that can't be explained."
"Yeah," she quietly agreed. Her eyes wandered around the spacious bedroom and down to one of Meg's textbooks lying upon the bed. Inside it, as a bookmark, was a bright pink flyer for the local musical. Without completely yanking it out, Christine gave the corner a small tug to give the paper a closer glance.
"What are you looking at?" asked Meg. "Oh! That! I think I'm going to get involved. A lot of us are. If I don't get a part, maybe they'll let me do scenery or something."
"I'm sure you'll make it, Meg," she replied, looking it over. "Do you happen to have an extra flyer?"
"Sure! I was helping to hand them out at the Student Union so I have stacks of them. Why? Are you planning on getting involved with it? It should be fun, even if you're not in the actual performance."
"Maybe," replied Christine, softly. "After that night, I feel so different. I feel like I was given a sign of some kind. I feel like..." She tapered off for a moment.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm not alone anymore."